It's the Thought That Counts
by Nancy Kaminski
Summary: It's Lacroix's anniversary again, and Nick remembers it in a fitting style.


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Conversion Day Challenge: It's the Thought That Counts  
By Nancy Kaminski  
(c) August 24, 2000  
The 1,921st Anniversary of the Destruction of Pompeii  
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"You're back."  
  
"Obviously."  
  
Lacroix grimaced ever so slightly in displeasure. Nicholas was going  
to be difficult -- not that that was unusual. He had hoped for a more  
pleasant visit.  
  
Patiently, he said, "So, where have you been these two weeks?  
Something to do with serving and protecting the populace of  
metropolitan Toronto?"  
  
"No."  
  
Lacroix settled into his usual armchair, prepared to wait out  
Nicholas' show of independence. These never lasted long, but Nicholas  
seemed to think he was making a point. Lacroix had to give him good  
marks for persistence, if nothing else.  
  
Finally, after silently going about some tedious domestic task or  
other, the younger vampire relented with ill grace. "I've been to  
Europe. I didn't think I needed your permission."  
  
Lacroix raised an eyebrow, choosing to pass on the provocation this  
time. "Europe?"  
  
"At an auction. They were settling old Michelletti's estate, and the  
heirs have no interest in the collection -- they prefer money." A  
faint note of satisfaction had crept into Nicholas' voice. So. He must  
have made a good purchase or two.  
  
"And?" Lacroix drew out the word, inviting detail.  
  
"I got a complete first edition of Munster's 'Cosmographia  
Unversalis,' " he said with pleasure. "Michelletti showed it off to me  
in 1934, and I've wanted it ever since. I outbid the British Museum  
for it."  
  
Lacroix snorted. "Pity I didn't keep my copy. I believe I bought it in  
1550 or so. But then, I prefer my cartography to be up to date, so I  
discarded it. You live too much in the past, Nicholas."  
  
"It's a work of art, Lacroix. The engravings are exquisite."  
  
"If you say so. Did you purchase anything else?"  
  
"A few things. A seventeenth century Italian cameo that looks  
surprisingly like Janette."  
  
"Ever the romantic," Lacroix said mockingly. "A gift for her?"  
  
Nick nodded. "I trust you'll keep the confidence, Lacroix. I want it  
to be a surprise."  
  
Lacroix stood and walked idly around the room, fingering the numerous  
curios Nick had accumulated. "You know you can trust me." He smiled  
sardonically over his shoulder. "At least as far as keeping your  
surprise, that is." He picked up an Olmec figure and examined it. "I  
do not understand why you insist on dragging all these -- things --  
about with you. We cannot be tethered to possessions, Nicholas. They  
will be the death of you yet."  
  
The faint thawing that had appeared when Nick talked about his  
purchases left abruptly. He scowled at Lacroix's back. "Are you here  
to lecture me again? If so, have done with it and go. I'm tired." He  
sat down on the leather sofa and stared resentfully at the fire.  
  
Lacroix sighed. This wasn't going well at all. "I just stopped by to  
say hello, Nicholas. Nothing more." He paused. "Hello, Nicholas, how  
are you?"  
  
Nick didn't respond at first, but finally a small smile tugged at his  
lips as he considered the utter predictability of the last five  
minutes. His mood restored, he leaned back and replied equably, "Fine,  
thank you. And you?"  
  
Lacroix sat down again and crossed his legs. "Feeling a bit  
sentimental."  
  
"Ah, of course. It's August 24. Happy anniversary."  
  
"Thank you, Nicholas," Lacroix said gravely. "Time certainly flies  
when you're having fun. I can hardly believe it's been 1,921 years. It  
seems like a mere five hundred or so."  
  
"Strange, I would have thought all our arguments would have made it  
seem longer."  
  
"I *did* say time flies when you're having fun."  
  
"So that's why you keep egging me on, is it? And here I thought you  
were merely out to make my life a living hell."  
  
"Well, that too."  
  
Nick nodded. "I see. Care for a drink?"  
  
The two vampires spent an unusually amiable evening in conversation.  
Perhaps it was Lacroix's uncharacteristic sentimentality; perhaps  
Nick's mercurial temperament mellowed for just long enough to accept  
it. Perhaps it was the day itself, the anniversary of an event that  
was, in the end, more cataclysmic for more people than were ever  
claimed by Vesuvius. Whatever the reason, they found themselves  
enjoying each other's company in ways they hadn't for many long years.  
  
At three in the morning Lacroix rose. "It's time to go. Thank you for  
a pleasant evening, Nicholas. We must do this again sometime."  
  
"There's always next August," Nick replied. "I expect we'll be back to  
normal tomorrow."  
  
"Yes. I expect so." The faintest tinge of regret colored Lacroix's  
voice.  
  
Just as Lacroix was about to leave via the skylight, Nick stopped him  
with a hand on the shoulder. "Wait a moment. There was one other thing  
in the auction -- I thought you might appreciate it." He disappeared,  
then returned with a package wrapped in brown paper. "I'm sorry it's  
not properly wrapped. I wasn't expecting you." He grinned. "I got into  
quite a bidding war over this, I'll have you know. It seems there's a  
new appreciation for this type of -- item."  
  
Lacroix, intrigued, nonetheless tucked the package under his arm.  
"I'll open it at home. I'd like to savor the anticipation, if you  
don't mind." He didn't know quite why he suddenly wanted some privacy,  
unless he was reluctant to have to display more emotion than he  
already had this unusual evening.  
  
Nick stepped back. "Whatever you wish. I hope you enjoy it. Good  
night, Lacroix. It's been -- interesting."  
  
Halfway home curiosity got the better of the ancient vampire. Over the  
middle of downtown Toronto, he stopped and hovered while he ripped the  
brown paper from the box. The paper swirled away in the light breeze  
as he lifted the box cover, then parted the Styrofoam packing peanuts.  
Carefully he drew out the item and held it up.  
  
It was terracotta, apparently genuine, and probably older than he was.  
He laughed out loud. "Very apt, Nicholas." He shifted his grip so he  
was holding the top, and shook it slightly. It made a pleasant  
tinkling noise as the terracotta good-luck phalluses clonked gently  
against each other.  
  
He resumed his flight home, the ancient Pompeiian windchime making its  
nostalgic music as it trailed from his hand .  
  
Perhaps, he mused, he would hang it from his townhouse's balcony. That  
would give the neighbors something to chat about.  
  
It had been, he decided, a thoroughly satisfactory Conversion Day.  
  
Finis  
  
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Comments, plaudits, criticisms, and  
Pompeiian windchimes (in a plain brown wrapper) to:  
Nancy Kaminski  
nancykam@mediaone.net  
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End file.
